


hemlock

by Luthiere



Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Body Horror, Gay, M/M, Multi, Mutilation, Sass, ass, male reader - Freeform, prosthetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthiere/pseuds/Luthiere
Summary: The Academy's meisters said sass would be the death of you, but you kept being the moody lit fucker of the block. Being a laureate was the only thing that spared your rotten, condescending attitude. But now your mentor is dead and you're becoming the plaything of a bunch of irrational imbeciles with too much money and demonic influence. You can't exactly ask for help from the council you betrayed, and honestly? You're considering putting yourself and the fuckers on fire.





	1. LOST LIMBS. FROSTED LIPS.

**_m/m. there's going to be body horror, violence, profanity, lewdery in general, and things of the sort. it is diabolik lovers._**

 ****

****

\--- onwards ---

**show no mercy, because mercy will get you killed**

◇◇◇

HE DUG into the wound, a gash his fingers pried open. Cold against the warmth of your abdomen. He wore a feverish grin you wouldn't forget. The pain came in bursts, crashed like waves against your brain - it was blinding. The sky was frozen in grey. And you? How could you end like this? The gun was so far away, lost amidst the overgrowth. You couldn't reach. A sharp stab broke your wrist. His boot, his sole, rendered the skin into bland peel. Cigarette smoke choked you up. And then it cleared.

"Didn't expect vampires to be so fucking young." And obnoxious and dastardly, you almost added. But there was blood swimming in your mouth.

"And what are you? Sixteen?" His voice was velvety and, amidst the confusion and pain, bizarrely clear. You swallowed the burning iron and spat the residue onto his shirt.

"Sure, on a scale from one to ten."

He let his mouth slightly ajar and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. The cigarette fell into the pool of blood. Your blood. Jeez. It looked way darker than you expected. Was this how you'd die? Bleeding on a graveyard pulled out of Pet Cemetery? He crouched, feet between your legs. He fiddled with - with a knife? Where had he - ? Oh. You weakly felt the pouch tied around your waist, half empty. You hadn't noticed.

"Silver." He nodded, appreciatively. "It's true. This is enough to kill us if you get close and aim right. Shame you failed." He picked your wrist, your dominant arm, gangly and unresponsive. The blade came, and it carved the skin and drew thick, thick red. He stared at your face, and snorted. When the next slash came, it wasn't done with a knife.

"It's like cutting the hand of a thief, y'know. Guess I'm being lenient."

It was done by an _axe_.

Couldn't tell how long you screamed. You choked on your own spit and blood, and felt both gravel and shrapnel of rocks digging onto your back. He dragged you by a leg. The sky shifted into something darker and bleaker. Mottled ink and the dying light of the sun. Nobody would come for you, now. As you passed by red cobblestone walls, pierced through and through by climbing ivy, you noticed a lump.

You shifted your head, not quite sure of what - because - no. Your mentor was the strongest, he . . . His head was caved in, and what you thought was brain matter -- it was scattered. Blood and bones were dripping from that head. You threw up, leaving a trail as the thing, man, son of a bitch led you into another circle of hell. And then your surroundings shifted. Now there were stone walls, sculptured pillars, and winding staircases. Warm rugs and candlesticks lined the corridor. A butler stared at you from the shadows, like the many heads of animals stuck on the walls. 

"Ah~good timing. Take it downstairs, would you? And ready a bath."

Your ankle slammed against the ground, untethered. You craned your head, but he had disappeared, left you with the pale and emotionless servant. He could've jumped locations at any given second. He'd just wanted you to see--. Bile jumped into your mouth.

"Understood." The manservant echoed, and Skeletor's fingers wrapped around your midsection. A shoulder then dug into your stomach, and in that hard to breathe position, rocked you back and forth. Somewhere to. You almost fainted, watching the drops of blood fade onto the ground. But sheer will made you hold on.

"Oi, where--?" You coughed. "Where are you taking me?"

". . ."

"Don't play deaf, _Alfred_ , where--." Your voice broke, back slamming against the floor. A few rats screeched, running back and fro and into a hole. Heavy metal clamped around your foot - the thing inches thick. And then, you were sure you were the only one left. Your heavy breathing bounced in the emptiness, frozen in the December weather. The footsteps disappeared to where you came from. Quickly, you ripped your shirt - struggling with one hand and a mouthful of teeth. Half hour later, you'd secured a makeshift tourniquet on your wrist, and slumped against the wall.

The moon, intercut by thin branches, smiled crookedly. It reminded you of him. You thought of revenge, tasteless and intangible, and closed your eyes. Blood and salt on your lips.

Ha, yeah right. Fedora and his skeleton might have thrown you in here, but you'd find an exit. It was a dungeon. That much was obvious with all the torture devices. Tongue tearers, thumbscrews, shears and rippers. It was the second coming of the Inquisition. You tested a window's guard, weak and worn. Beyond, the vegetation rustled. Sight, nil. You weren't a bloody cat when it came to pitch black darkness. You sighed. The major problem, captain obvious, was the chain tied to your ankle. Nothing else mattered if you didn't get rid of it.

Now, was there anything good enough to cut with? You hoped they were all idiots who'd left you in a room with good enough tools. And thus became the hunt for freedom. Which ended rather abruptly. You found a saw below some gurneys, steps out of your range. You thanked your tall stature as your fingertips grazed the handle, and pulled. And then your plan crumbled because reality was reality. You wouldn't be able to go through the metal with something so flimsy in a short interval and - you could nearly bend it with your measly strength. It was time to make choices. Irreparable choices. You'd already lost a hand.

What was a foot.

You swallowed thick and put to work. It was just you, now, just you and your resolution.

. . . 

When you are done it's chill-inducing. You've lost so much blood. Maybe a liter overall. Could be more, you think as you drag yourself through the dirt. You have nothing but rags on your upper body, the rest used to hold yourself together. Literally. In the still of the grove, insects sing their songs. A spider lands itself in your shoulder. You don't even have the strength to swipe the beast away, hobbling and making it by. It's so fucking cold.

You grip some more ground, heaving yourself upwards. The fog is a blanket. You can barely see beyond your own hand, and the noises around don't help. Not insects anymore. More like snarls, hungry, and the snapping of fallen branches. Something is following you. And a faraway piece of your mind echoes that it doesn't matter. You might as well get mauled to death. You just wish it hadn't been before Christmas. Didn't you make a lot of promises?

Yes. To all the kids of the orphanage, and then some.

The church won't care if you disappear. Hunters often did. And look at you, half ghost and half corpse. Your only working leg buckles under you, folding like a castle of cards and refusing to cooperate. The shirt strips are dyed red, wet. What were you thinking? It hurts so much. But you don't want to die like this.

Why is it all so thankless?

Keep moving.

The fog dies, like a whisper, and it clears enough so that moonlight guides you. You have to squint, and ignore the cold sweat that falls on your lashes and down your neck. Breathing is hard, now. Your heart feels so wild, uncontrollable. It's scary. You don't realize you're crying until you taste your dry lips and it's unlike sweat. Whole lot of good it will do to you, being a kid. You end crumpling completely onto the ground, barely lucid and too shaky. The road's there. Just some more leaps. 

It feels an eternity away. 

And something tells you it's too late, you won't make it and it's all over. Really. A hand lands on your shoulder, steely and familiar and blood-curdling. You don't dare move, not even when you're turned over by a laughing green fucker who thinks it's all a joke. To a vampire, life probably is. 

"Hey, bitch." You say, hoarse and barely audible. You're dead anyway. Fear almost freezes your tongue but stupidity and pride lead you on. And they giggle, and then they let go and double laughing.

"Won't stop talking unless I cut your tongue, is that it? But I have to admit you surprised me." He lifted you, and the sudden jerk made you dizzy. It was unbearable. "I'm not going to let you die easy, little fighter. Pets like you are fun to watch."

Pet? The sky moved. Shifted back to a mansion enshrouded in fog and things that watched and groveled.

No.

He couldn't hear you. Didn't care. His footsteps were slow and steady.

You felt your body go numb. Couldn't keep your neck up. Was that it? You'd earned another day as a plaything?

Please let me die.

You felt the darkness, cold, unforgiving, frightening, unpromising darkness swallow you whole. Beast, monster. The names were all muddled up. Your eyes closed.

_Please._

****

◇◇◇

_Your father snapped the book shut, and you watched him from under quilts, mouth filled with the sweet taste of crumbles and midnight snacks. Your child hand - small, unblemished, ignorant - curled around his cardigan. A weak hold, but you didn't want him to snuff the light just yet. The candle could still burn._

_"But does it end there? It was so short."_

_"That's why it's called a prologue, [Name]." He patted your head, and with a sigh, let the room fall too many octaves darker. Only the light from outside remained._

_"Then finish the story, tonight."_

_"Tomorrow," he said, kindly. And you believed him._


	2. GREETINGS, I'M NOT IGOR

**THIS FUCKING GINGER,** you thought. Residual medicine festered in your mouth, while your surroundings meshed into lines, strobe lights, and then pitch black. Everything hurt, even as you lay on a soft surface. Waiting. You clung to fickle conscience, an unnatural self-awareness up and running with anxiety. You wanted to throw up, feel the familiar burn of bile in your throat, but there was nothing left in you for that. What would become of you? The thought conjured images and delusions that crawled up your spine. A lump in your throat. Your head slipped down the sofa's arm, heavy and dull, and you licked your chapped lips. Pain had abandoned you.

". . . bleeding out." A woman's voice echoed.

"Yes, mother dear. Apparently." A chuckle, a known voice. "And before you say 'kill it', you should know father ordered to acquire a new . . . familiar."

"Then kill it anyway, darling. A human familiar is unheard of, subpar, and above all, distasteful."

"I agree on all, except the last." He giggled. "Their blood is--."

"A bloodbank, hm? Then 'acquiring' him might as well have been for nothing." Cold fingers brushed past your collar, pressed down your pulse. "Look at it! The mere sight screams 'kill me, please', don't you think?"

 _No, you fucking bitch._ You thought lazily. _I haven't kicked the bucket yet for a reason._

"I think they look beautiful," he sneered. "Let me keep them."

It was cold. That tone. You didn't know what was going on - barely kept yourself awake - but everything had taken a turn for the worse. Must have, from the way her nails cut your skin, and how her hand had a slight tremble to it. You didn't sign up for this. For missing limbs and goddamn family crises.

"Your concept of beauty is terrific, Laito. I shudder to wonder what 'hideous' means to you."

You forced your eyes open. Mercurial light illuminated silhouettes, and that woman . . . She perched herself on the sofa's arm, her silken dress draped by your side. She was beautiful. Unnaturally beautiful. Your eyes struggled to remain watchful.

"And give you nightmares? I'd be a terrible son."

"Oh! But if you were to comfort me . . ." There was something off. The sick-kind off. "Well, I'll leave you and the pest. Shame they are so pathetic. Even as a courier, their life will be short."

"Good bye, mother."

"Yes. I'll be in my chambers."

Her hand slid to her front - did something you could not see, just like you could not see her expressions - and then she slipped from view. Through it all, he - Laito - remained impassive. This was routine for them. But for you, it was alien and strange and it edged on the taboo. He passed you by. Sank on the sofa.

"Do you believe in fate, cookie?"

You felt less groggy, your thoughts no longer jumbled nor frantic. The drugs' effect. You pondered the question. And the stupid moniker. "'m not your bak'd goods." There was an uncomfortable silence in which he went still. A silence where you felt no better than a child, and then he laughed, he laughed like a fucking dolphin.

"No, no. With /k/, kooky! I mean, you are the craziest I've met in a long, long time." He smothered his giggles. "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't believe shit."

"But all humans die. If that isn't fate, what is? You are bound to the unavoidable. It's a heavy sentence." The distance between you and him was cut, cold air fanning your face. He was laughing, again. "I can gift you with immutable eternity."

"Don't need it."

"Ooh~ a resolute conviction. Endearing, but I didn't ask for permission."

"Fuck off."

"Bad boy with no wit. Where's the fun in that?"

"Where's the fun in fucking your own mother?"

Bull's eye.

Victimology (and common sense) had a term for your actions. Provocation. But according to Laito, fate was at fault, not you. That's why you didn't regret anything as his hands wrapped round your neck and choked what was left of you. You did feel, of course.  There was the burn in your lungs, the lack of oxygen, the claws around your throat. The homicidal look directed at you and not his mother. If there was any one person you thought of apologizing to, it was Dylan Thomas.

You did not rage against the dying light.

◇◇◇

Your past was disposable. It was a tragedy you could've found on any prosaic paperback ; forgotten with the next novel at hand. There was nothing to say about the orphanage slash church you ended in, either, except that, when you were nothing but an acolyte (out of necessity), you discovered things you should not have. A matter of wrong place, wrong time, really. A curse, a curse, a curse.

Skip a few years down the lane, a few decisions paved with good intentions (all leading to hell), and the metal was light in your hand. Murder was light in your hand. Foods and colors lost their taste, dawns and dusks lost their magic, and by then, you were unable to pinpoint the cause of your chronic insomnia. There were too many reasons and too many nightmares. But the books were solace. Even if the thought of making a livelihood off of walking corpses was both elating and fretful. You told yourself it was putting the dead back to sleep. The end.

How you came to the hellbound mansion was a memory you'd rather not replay. And after-life figured to be a more interesting subject and state of affairs. There was nothing like finding yourself nowhere and somewhere at the same time. And the reaper? The reaper was a fucking nursery tale.

A beast stared at you, intangible and insurmountable to register in your mind. Hundreds of eyes blinked at their own pace. Maybe they were thousands. You couldn't count. You forgot how to count.

Green glinted somewhere. Green? Yes. The color of dead leaves and jealousy and all those bad, bad things. And a hand, deformed and crooked, lunged at your very being. Got ahold of you, fragile, insignificant you. There was a thought that flashed, and had a voice. A voice dripping with debauchery and mirth.

It said, "You are one dumb fuck, but let's get along, hm? This soul is now mine. This body, and this mind, too.

"But I guess you knew so when I **took**  your hand, haha!"

◇◇◇

You hit white tiles, pristine and frigid. A kick to the guts and some slurs rolled off your tongue. You didn't even recognize what you'd uttered. Still bleeding.

"I'll help you with a bath, hm? That grime and dirt must be a pain."

You opened your eyes, only to feel the crash of cold water. You coughed - and it took you a long while to associate the hands unbuckling your pants with Laito. A burst of panic seized you, but you barely had the strength to keep your eyes open. Stripped, he manhandled you in the tub, letting the faucet run with ice.

"I'll do what you humans call . . . a kindness!"

He grabbed a hard sponge, shampoo, water and - you feebly put up your good arm, only for it to be gripped and scrubbed. It was a methodical movement. His nails were too sharp, and you tried to soften each flinch that wrecked your body. He whistled.

"You have a lot of scars. Do they come with the job or because you constantly screw up?"

You kept your mouth shut, easy, now. You were numb, tired, unfocused. There was no point in keeping a conversation with him. (The beast) His hands went places, but you didn't care. The string of coherence came to a horrifying jumble when he took your wrist, breath fanning the raw, cut skin and what the fuck was he doing. You passed out, maybe due to disgust or mere exhaustion. There was a searing, white lacuna of what happened afterward. For the best. Now, you were on a bed. (Immobile.)

The man-boy moved like liquid shadow. A few coats on his arm, a few shirts on his hand. 

"So? This or that? If you don't pick something, I will."

"What did you do . . . to me?" You (try to) smother the shivers that've sunk into you, but all you manage is a low, gruff cough.

"Be a little more gratuitous~. I did, after all, give you a second chance."

Sunset should've dyed the room orange, but everything deflected a bloody crimson. You took a break from the view, and glanced at your stubs. The gaps felt unnatural and bizarrely unreal. Everything was bandaged into place, turning you into a mummy. 'Second chance.' His words lingered. You knew that sentence meant something terrible, but you didn't want to think.

Had you become what you hunted for the last years?

"Aha!" He shouted, and jumped by your side. "This, is perfect. Put it on, now."

The thought of having been touched all over by him twisted your guts - so you ignored him. Ignoring was easy. But you nabbed the thing he held, anyway, the . . . collar. If only so he wouldn't clasp it. 

"Right, right. You just visited the purgatory and lost too much blood. I suppose I can keep being the doting owner! Or would you prefer calling me 'master'?"

"..."

"Beggars can't be choosers! That's still a popular saying, right? And here you go~. If you're going to be my pet, I can't have you walking 'round in rags. You can thank Mother for those standards." 'Mother' was uttered with distaste. "You and I will have so much fun. But first, put on that collar. I need to find the leash, too."

He dropped garments on you - the most expensive fabrics you'd ever touched - and disappeared in a blink. Right. You were in the worst case scenario, now. You hacked a laugh, and sank into the mattress (filled with feathers and cloud material) and tried to fall asleep. But a streak of pain zapped through your spine, hot white and sharp.

"Just let me die."

"Oh, kooky." He pulled your neck, leash in hand, grapples in place. "You are already dead! Isn't that wonderful?" 

"Fuck off. I obviously meant using silver." He had given you a 'second chance' - and there was not much you could think of other than having being turned vampire after getting strangled. 

"You catch on quickly, don't you? But either you can't learn because of permanent brain damage or your attitude is shit by default. I kinda think it's both. Anyhow, enjoy your new life as a sidekick."

"Wh."

"Sidekick. Manservant? You'll be helping in general, I suppose. For now, though--" A hand shoved you back, made the whole world spin. "Now, you sleep."

And everything went black. What, was it thrice in a row that you fainted? How miserable.

◇◇◇

You remembered eating apples to the core, whole, because hunger was so very common in the institute (the institute for destitute little children). The seeds were small and didn't seem all that bad. Of course, the responsible adults forced you to vomit when you'd eaten more than a dozen - and when you had been shoved too close to the previously used-and-not-flushed toilet, the odour had been nauseating enough. You reminisce this useless and slightly worrisome piece as you sit in the grand dinner table. 'Seats available for an army, come, we are a trio of lonely vampires.' Really. There were only a handful of you, so why the hell did this table extend through all the room? It was pitifully grandiose.

Side-tracking aside, this family was like those cores' seeds. Amped to the thousands. You had had enough with Laito and his sent-from-hell mother. You didn't need more poison embodied right in front of you, sneering down at you like you were a piece of muck. Yes, that was Ayato. And Kanato.

To-to-to. The Toto family. The lethal To trio.

Hell, you were just trying to distract yourself with stupid thoughts because you were in pain and painkillers where? Nowhere, because Laito revelled in your existential and general discomfort. He had semi-carried you in a pull of vampire magic, promptly teleporting down for dinner. It was a lurching experience. And introductions had been done away with, of course. How can you ignore the new mutt a sibling has brought in home? That's what you were to them.

The only one missing was their mother. 

Ayato picked through some steaming pizza, appetite lost. They shared the same boxes of greasy telephone-ordered fast food, and what seemed to be wine. Or blood. You weren't entirely sure, but wasn't this what being a vampire entailed? Living in a mansion stuck who-knows-where and drinking expensive fluids? Yeah, no. These guys were just weird as fuck. Purebloods. 

Most of the city's half-vampire bums used connections to get close to hospitals, or worked at those, or just became serial killers. They were hard to dispose of and bury, too. But sans the inhuman strength and speed, they were like any other civilian. Laito and the rest were . . . You knew how they were, what with your mutilated body.

"Who the fuck makes sweet pizza?" Ayato grunted.

"It's good," Ted (you know, the purple haired shota) cut in, pulling a whole half into his plate. "It's how food should be - sweet."

"Hell no, you crazy? Pizza is supposed to be spicy or salty. Not this junk."

"Ayato, I'll cut out your skin out with this spoon if you insult me again."

"Uh-huh. You try that, psycho, and I'll dunk you into your grave."

"Teddy, let's go. Ayato is being a 'bitch' tonight." Wack. He was too far gone into delusion. You knew you were going to suffer with this . . . manchild.

"Oh please. Look at yourself in the mirror - why are we even doing this? Oh yeah, because someone wants to show off their new pet!"

You put in your worth of two cents, what with Laito engorging himself with everything available. "To be honest, both of you are bitches."

It took one [1] Laito, a whole lot of broken ceramic plates, and a heavily injured you for everyone to calm the fuck down.

"I have a fuckin' name, use it you fucking reprobate." You coughed, checking the fork and knife wounds. It was still weird to see your skin mend itself at such a fast rate. It would be nice to call it off as a nightmare, but it was reality. (And if you could heal so easily it was not that bad - pain was temporary and familiar. Their faces were worth it.)

"I will fucking flense you, you little shit." "I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU STUPID BASTARD--"

"[Name]. It's [Name], dammit."

"Now! Now," Laito is holding both of them down, glaring at you from the corner of his eye. "I know we all want to kill my own familiar - " Oh how nice, "but I'd rather you don't!"

"I'm killing that fucker as soon as I can."

"Well - "

"FUCK OFF I'LL POUR BOILING WATER ON - "

"Kanato no!"

Yeah, you were looking forwards to dying. Or actually leaving and surviving somehow? You were still in shock, and you couldn't think of . . . coming to terms with anything. The whole thing seemed to be a plot half-assed and pulled out from a failed comedy attempt. This was all a huge joke.

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU DEGENERATE - "

And oh gee, what damn anger issues. It made a laugh bubble in the back of your throat - what a messed up dinner reunion. Vampires sucked. Literally and figuratively.

◇◇◇

The straps were tight. Chafing. It was what you expected? Kind of? Because he was not beating you to a pulp or cutting off another limb. You were just stuck in the library's sofa, while he flipped through some catalogues and pamphlets. Travelling . . . guides? While on one hand you expected Laito to have the whole world under the belt already, there were too many vibes of 'shut ins' coming from the family as a whole.

"I've seen everything, kooky."

Ah, there it was. He actually had experience with the real world.

"Except idiots with retardedly illogical actions such as yours." Guess not. "You should be trying to gain our favor - at least mine - and worm yourself into our little, nonexistent vampire hearts. I thought survival was your priority? Hm, perhaps not, since you came here in the first place."

"You are the kind of lunatic I kill for bills."

"Yes, and you failed to do so, which makes me the lunatic that can kill you for fun. But! I am not trying to pick a fight with you, pet - yes, it has a nice, true ring to it - all I want you to do is keep yourself in one piece."

"Just throw me in a dungeon or somethin'. I can barely move, much less fight. Not sure what you want, other than bizarre, twisted entertainment." You sick fuck, you added mentally.

"I won't deny that. A handful of centuries leaves little to be enjoyed." He shrugged and laughed, appearing by your side in a blink. "But a lame servant won't do, either. Even one of our butlers would do in that case. Get a good, deep sleep, and you won't have to worry about lacking limbs in the morning."

"Does that imply that I--?"

"No. I'm just fucking with you. You can't regrow limbs overnight, dumdum. It's a nice thought to ruminate on, though, isn't it? What I've done to you is a simple turning, which . . . will take some time for you to adjust to. Give and take a few weeks, and who knows? I might be inclined to teach you how to kill vampires in an actually successful way. Reasons! Don't give me that face. It's already been cleared that my interests are not the best, and I have too much free time in my hands. If everything goes well - you'll know what I mean someday - I might even grant you freedom."

"You don't make any sense."

"I am fickle, kooky. There's nothing more to it. And as you said, your entertainment is passable. Have a good night. Those belts are made from the finest material for the finest pet!" And that's how this chapter of your life comes to an end - one deranged vampire booping you and leaving you in the coldest of libraries. You don't understand yet what he means when he mentioned killing vampires, but you will. Because it involves a certain lackadaisical woman, balconies, and searing roses in the middle of a rainy night.

And at that moment, you take the meaning of freedom in the wrong way; between wanting to die and wanting to escape, you have a little bit too much hope.


	3. TIME IS BUT A CONSTRUCT (?)

**A SLAP**  woke you. And your heart jumped to your throat, momentarily, when you could only remember broken memories of pain. Laito was grinning down at you, teeth sharp and uncanny, while the reprobate hovered close. There were similarities to them, you thought, that made them seem like family. Which they were, yeah, but the concept itself was hard to apply to them. There was nothing but malice to their mere existence; It was hard to find anything remotely humane.

"Good! Morning! I hope you like breakfast in bed." Laito chirped, and you noticed the tray beside you, consisting of hardened, moldy pizza and a greasy cup of . . . beige water?? Disgusting. What did you expect?

"I'm still bound." 

"Yeah. Know what else, captain obvious?" The one-without-soul asked. "You are about to meet fist-in-face."

The punch felt like a thousand bees had stung you, a personal grudge certainly present. You only felt panic when you could not breathe, and there was something warm and sticky slowly pouring down your chin. Broken nose. A second later you felt the binds come undone, letting your arms fall off the painful pull they'd been stuck in, and someone giggled.

"You see, we came to an agreement to spare your life! And Ayato laid the condition of getting a good sucker on you."

"HM." You held your nose, gingerly. The pain had come along with a friend; the ringing in your ears had decided to set camp and never leave. There was also an unbearable itch that, from experience, shouldn't have accompanied the break. 

"For now," Ayato said, slightly scoffing next to you. "And I let you down easy."

"Only because I will let you have the honors." Laito cut in, and for some reason, you knew the honors had nothing to do with you. "And the tray's a joke, by the way. As your master, it's my job to provide blood, so here we go."

And he slit his arm.

◇◇◇

The mansion was old, hence the lack of a proper heating system. You didn't care as you scrubbed your hands, your chin, your mouth - the blood was thick and metallic - with freezing water. The drain had flakes of rust. You tried not to think of all the times this family washed off the blood, all the people they killed along the years (decades and eventually centuries). If the average person ate seven thousand animals in their lifetime, what was the count these vampires carried? Could it be measured? You patted blindly for one of those decorative towels they kept around, and eventually, someone handed it over.

"You look troubled."

It was not Laito. Much less Ayato. And it wasn't the delusional boy, either.

She leant against the doorframe, surprisingly filling what little space there was with a jut of her hip, hand on her waist. Crimson lipstick, borderline black, smeared her lips. You focused instead on the mirror, on yourself. Your scruffy form hunched, sunk eyes and black bags - you couldn't even stop the tremors from the cold and exhaustion. One leg held all your weight. You looked troubled and awful and pitiable.

"My son has a nasty habit. He brings strays like you all the time - of course, he is not quite gentle."

"I am not - " You started, but she spoke over you. You had to grip the edges of the sink to stop seeing red.

"Little boy, do you think a good ending awaits if you submit well enough? He is going to devour you whole."

"It's you or him." You laughed, throat hoarse and hot. "I will be eaten alive no matter what, so fuck off and stop trying to drag me into your game."

She ponders over this, but the quiet is brief.

"Such a short temper. Perhaps I will tell my son to train you - didn't he say you were his pet? What a sorry, little mutt."

A couple of claws - no, not claws, nails - jutted themselves onto your neck. They traced the skin and the veins. Her other hand came around to your ribs, and squeezed, and broke the skin open, nevermind the fabric of your shirt.

"I can rip you apart, boy. So learn your place."

You held your breath, and in turn, felt her lips on the shell of your ear.

"You said so yourself, hm? I might be the one to eat you. A charity case."

"I'm not interested."

". . . Excuse me?"

"I'm not interested in, y'know. Women. In general." (Was that a lie or not? You'd never let her know; this situation was just not your cup of tea.) You let that sink. And she laughed. You registered the lashing of her hand too late. A throw that of a man, or a wild beast, something along those lines. There was a sickening crack, and red, everywhere. You could only see red.

(Oh, you stupid boy.)

[[RELOAD]]

"It's you or him - " You've said this, once. The towel is fluffy, white, slowly turning brown red in your hands. Didn't you wipe off all the blood? The woman is staring with vivid green eyes. The kind of look animals use for prey, You falter, gather your bearings, but by then she is chuckling. It is awful - her skin on your cheek, soft. You know she can kill with ease. (You've already been - ?)

"Please, I am the last person you should be worrying about. It's sickening. Stop shaking."

You are starving, dehydrated, exhausted beyond belief and emotionally depleted and - this? This is her order to you? You slide down the tiled wall, looking at anywhere but her. Mockingly, the statue of an archangel peers at you from one of the walls above the bathtub. It looks like the only thing that matters in the mansion is aesthetics. 

Click, clack.

"Don't fucking-"

"Don't what, darling? I can do anything. This." She clawed your arm and dragged you out of the bath, down the long hallways with artificial plants and chipped wallpaper that nonetheless, was all delicately accounted for. "You are stupid, boy, and I couldn't care less about your blood. Mutts like you are always disgusting. Ergo, there is not much use for you around here. Not even as a circus distraction."

Your bare feet slide through the smooth wooden floor, and then start to chafe on the rugs. Before you know it, she has stopped. You stumble on her dress and end pulling a strip of cloth down.

"Shit--" It's just organza, of course it would tear easily.

"Oh."

Her legs should be unblemished. A hand lifts you up by the scruff of your collar, and you don't have to describe the glare she throws at you. The ugliness of it makes you feel at ease, because it's pretty much like all the glares you've received before. Human enough.

"I ought to rip you open, you cretin." She shoved you inside the room, lips curled back in a sneer. And then shifted into a snarl. "Kanato~ have fun!"

And she jammed the doors closed. You heard something click, and a jangle of keys went off in the other side. Mother. Fucking. Bitch. This was one of those photographers' red rooms. The lights buzzed, flickering between almost no sight to pitch black.

"OH. It's just you . . . "

You turn around just to see the boy standing over . . . a table. A woman on the table. A woman that was open and her blood was streaming down to the floor, into metal basins that were half full and some at their peak. You thought how strange this was. How irreal. Until the reasty stench hit you, and the buzzing you'd been hearing was not from the light sources, but flies that swatted near your chin, your temples. The air was not air. It was the left over sludge when you tear someone apart and let their corpse rot, indefinitely. You couldn't feel your legs, but you stood up anyway. Like in a ghoulish dream.

"What? Are you going to stand still forever? Mother said she'd fetch you, have you help me." He removed his latex gloves and took off the apron. You weren't sure what to say. A scalpel was extended to you. "You are no doll, move already."

The woman is already dead, expired - she can't feel anything. And there is a monster in the body of a child, breathing down your neck, waiting. The following is obvious, but you aren't really there. To try and describe it would be a hazy struggle. It would be pointless. Surely.

_''Start with eyes.''_

Some time later, you are standing before the back garden, listlessly. 

"Kooky?"

It's Laito. He looks almost benign, washed in silver moonlight that reminds you of elves, something not entirely evil or human. Before you can blink, he has walked to your side, shook you a little. It breaks whatever reverie you were in, and reminds you of all the bloody details in that fucking room. You resent even Laito for it. Of course you should.

"It would be so much easier if you were dead." The words flow like water. It sounds true.

He doesn't say anything to that, other than letting out a snort, and instead leads you back inside. You are cattle. You are a goddamn idiot. You are so, so fucked.

◇◇◇

Laito's room was unobtrusively stripped of personal belongings. It belonged to the cover of a hotel magazine, made for the eye, not for sleep. You sat on the chaise lounge, towel wrapped around your neck. The new clothes were thin. Little more than that woman's fabric, and you weren't sure if everything that happened had really . . . You tried not to look at the basket with the clothes dyed red.

Laito was gone. He'd left you some books, said he was getting some tools (it was a wonder no warning bells went off when he said that) and you were alone. As you passed your hand beneath the sofa (a habit you'd gotten out of little care for morals in strangers' houses and a need for money) you felt cool glass. A nice heavy bottle, a fifth of vodka still left in it. But you wouldn't drink in a place like this, ever. You left the bottle back in its place. 

Laito materialized in front of you.

"What--" The books on your lap almost fell off.

"Get used to it~! And here we are. Knives of all kinds. Except, of course, silver."

He spread a black bag on the table, unrolling tightly snug blades with no signs of rust and an alarming variety of size and sharpness. 

"Knives."

"Yes. It's cute when you repeat my words, but also kind of dumb."

"Why the hell are you showing me this?"

"I told you before. Training!"

"To kill."

"Yes. The job you've been doing for years without so much as blinking. Cheer up, kooky. It looks like you've seen a terrible atrocity being committed."

"Because - "

"Vampires do atrocities all the time, right? And so do humans? So stop being shaken about the little things."

You felt exasperation building up in your chest, but it turned into tired indifference, and you swept a gaze on the blades. He was looking on expectantly, so you started with the heaviest butcher knife. And of course it was the best. This was Japan, so it wasn't a wonder he would be able to track down the best blacksmiths. The insignia carved on the metal was testament enough.

You swung at his neck.

The world shifted, and then you were on your back. Hand? Empty. Pride? His foot shifted on your chest, laughter spilling like pearls. The shadows danced around the noise. "Come on. You can do better than that." 

 

The scuffle didn't last long. The damage you'd dealt was nil, while he'd landed enough hits to leave breaks on the skin - not enough to break bones, though. He held back at the last moment, when he had to tried to pry the grin off his face and make as if he didn't enjoy the sheer violence. He obviously failed.

The knife was somewhere on the rug. You felt a deja-vu.

He slammed the air out of you, one kick after the other.

"Don't you want to win? Are you really this pathetic?"

When you punched his guts, it felt like you were getting rid of a huge weight. He choked on his saliva, coughed, and then leant on your arm. A breathless giggle and he was gone from your sight - an arm wrapped around your neck. It cut off your airway. A cold sliver of metal pressed against your side. You didn't move. The metal slid in, easy. Still, you didn't scream, because that would be music to his ears. He didn't want to stop. Didn't hold his hand back. Even though your grip left gashes on his skin and he recoiled when you dug your elbow far back.

"You'll kill me." Three words you gasped, but he tightened the arm around your throat. It felt like your eyes would pop.

"You can't die as long as I'm here." He paused. "I can promise that."

It was the closest thing to a death sentence you'd ever heard.

◇◇◇

You got off the bed, back in your room, and felt your stomach. The skin was perfectly fine. Everything was alright (or was it?), even time, as the sun broke gloriously through the horizon and you saw the morning once again. But it felt lacking. You didn't feel as happy as you thought you would be. The collar was still around your throat, so you unlatched it and threw it out the window. A cat shrieked from somewhere. Now that made you smile. And then you remembered. There was blood running down your abdomen and thighs, and someone saying it'd be okay.

It was easy to latch a face to the voice. But even easier was latching onto that memory, that moment, and that sensation of dying but not quite dying. The thought of drinking blood sickened you the first time, and yet . . . getting used to it didn't take long. Didn't take much at all. You were alive because of it.  You climbed onto the window's frame, and looked down. It was an invigorating experience, having nothing holding you back but a hand used to making mistakes. The air was damn hecking sweet, so when you took one leg off the surface, you chose to ignore the risk of standing on a ledge. It broke.

This was what parkour aficionados did: they rolled the moment they hit ground. The force would be evenly distributed, and nothing would fracture. Of course, there was a limit to heights, and nobody in their right mind jumped off the third floor thinking of rolling it off. But you did, because you couldn't teleport like all these bitches. 

There was brash bravery combined with the thrill of being inhuman. You could endure more, now. You were stronger than ever. It felt freeing. It was not long before you were standing on a broken bed of flowers, leveling your breath, making sure nothing was fucked up. Your feet were fine - you'd put on the shoes from Laito (he'd given you everything you were wearing) - and so were your legs. You swung them around a bit. Walked around. There was nobody.

The road was pretty close last time, wasn't it? You didn't think twice.

◇◇◇

It was midday when you made it to the city. The scorching white heat was dizzying, as if the sun had been amped double, and it was set on eating through your skin. You squeezed the empty water bottle (people really didn't watch their things) and chucked it into a trash can. Unsure of what to do, you looked for the local church. It was Saturday, and hence, it was easy enough to find. The cars filled the street, some kids playing around with their parents. A small dog started to growl and yip at you, and their owner apologized profusely. You ignored them, and stepped through the entrance.

You felt sick. Some invisible force was trying to make you turn back, churning your insides. It wasn't coincidence.

People were staring, but you straightened your back and returned the looks, and soon enough they went back to their things. You grazed the walls as you looked for some kind of inner office, maybe a priest or the church's caretaker. You needed to call in to the higher ups and demand some kind of help. It had to work, somehow. You had lost all the audacity from the morning, between walking for kilometers, hitching a ride with a drunkard, and getting lost in identical looking streets. The situation had been accentuated by all the sneers and holier-than-thou attitudes around you.

An acolyte stepped out of the dressing room, just in time to smash against your chest. You held on to an alcove in the wall, and then grabbed onto their shoulder. "Kid, is the priest still here?"

"Uh, yea - yes, he is. But he's in the confessional right now, so um." They pointed at an ever growing line of people. How had you missed that?

"Thanks." You quickly shoved your hand into your pockets. It was burning. What the fuck was this? You quickly cut into the line's end, narrowly avoiding stumbling onto someone's chest. It was just unlucky that you couldn't fit in with all the snugly suited men and old '80s women's fashion. Looked like a funeral service.

Your turn came eons later. The stall was emptied and you slid in, swallowed by the darkness and surprising quiet. 

"I need you to help me, Father. I know this is not the place, nor the time, but I need to reach bishop Komori."

"Son, I cannot do that." This was not okay. This was not how things went - you leant into the crisscrossed emptiness, and saw two red eyes looking at you with mirth. "But don't go. There are things I need to tell you."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I am the new priest. Didn't you know? The last one died a little bit ago. No real explanation to it." He said, no emotion to it whatsoever. Perhaps your parents should have named you Murphy's Law. "At least, none that humans can comprehend."

". . ." You had nowhere to go.

"I've exhausted the plans for this timeline."

The fuck.

"So I decided to try a little game, one that's more nihilist than usual."

You kicked the door open, and flew out of there. The streets were a mess of sounds, and there was no sense to it. The sun was sizzling with hot, humid air, and you tried to lick your chapped lips. Even blinking was an effort. Dehydrating, again. You walked, wandered, no real destination in mind. The deafening blare of a truck was lost on you. You didn't even feel the impact, or the broken glass. It was just the stupid heat that bothered you, like melting wax and burnt meat.

[[RELOAD]]

"Please, understand that I'm not actively trying to make you miserable."

You leant against the wooden door, trying to keep the bile in. Hyperventilating was never a huge problem, but sometimes it happened, sometimes being in situations where you couldn't even make sense of what was happening.

"But I hope you stop getting into such hopeless affairs. Rewinding takes a toll on me, too."

"What? 'Me, too'? What the fuck?"

"You've died twice, child."

"So you are the one fucking with time."

"I am the one manipulating . . . yes. Let's say 'time'. Nonetheless, that body of yours - it won't last long, being put through so much bending and twisting of matter."

"Then how about you stop this stupid game?"

"Because I am sure you want to survive, and I have my reasons. It doesn't look like you are very mentally strong, and this might've been a miscalculation on my part, but you ought to remember this: each choice you take has a consequence. Those consequences will build up, and overlap, and if you don't take care of yourself, then you'll have something worse than forced immortality in your hands."

"Why me?"

"Arbitrary reasons, happenstance and whims. Focus on getting along with those boys. Simple enough, yes? Even fools can do that."

You felt your heartbeat slow down, the cold sweat turn into sticky dryness, and you sank onto the chair. "You came just to tell me that?"

"My son is trashing town, looking all over for you, so try to be complacent. It's too soon to be dying a third time. There is a necklace on the floor, to your right. Take it and go."

You felt cool bone on your hands. Some gem glinted within the amulet.

"Don't mention me, and you will be fine."

"I hope you know I will screw over your entertainment."

"Then you'll be doing a most tragic curse to your own self. Good bye."


End file.
